Movie Night
by kelly the fanfiction addict
Summary: Going to the movie theatre... how will it turn out? Read! K  because there's like, one curse.


Hey Outsiders Fans!

It's been a long time since I uploaded a story, that's for sure. I hope you like this one. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I'm not Susie Hinton. I own nothing.

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><p>You have decided that tonight, you are going to the movies. You just got out of school for the year, and report cards don't get issued until tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, Steve will drive you down to Will Rogers High School and you will find out how you did this year. You don't really have a good feeling about it- your grades just haven't been at "Ponyboy level" since the whole Johnny incident in freshman year. Darry knows that you try your very hardest, so he tries not to yell so much. Soda always sticks up for you anyway, telling Darry that you've had a rough go of it lately and leave you alone.<p>

But tonight, you don't want to think about your impending report card. You just want to take your mind off of everything; grades, where you should get a summer job, whether or not you should dump the girl you've be going with (she's kind of clingy and annoying- not really your type). The thing you don't want to worry about most though, is Soda. Lately, he's been more reckless than ever. He hasn't had a steady since Sandy left, but from what he says at the poker games, he's become quite the womanizer lately. You hope he's being careful. Darry can't afford to feed another mouth.

So tonight, you tell Darry that you are going to the movies. He looks at you funny; you haven't been to the movies since, well since _that_ night. That one fateful night two years ago that will haunt you forever. He doesn't try to persuade you not to, however, knowing that you are Ponyboy Curtis, and you have a stubborn streak a mile wide and if you've made up your mind to do something, well by golly you are going to do it.

You don't take anyone with you. Darry never really gets into movies much, he seems to prefer nonfiction. Two-Bit and Soda are too excitable for movies, you know that both of them would be poking you or making comments the whole time, and you really just want to enjoy the film. The only other person to take is Steve, and let's faces it- Steve wouldn't want to see a movie with you anyway. No point asking, is there?

You saunter down the street, nodding to people you know and walking past the people who look down on you. You reach the Nightly Double, sucking in the mixed smells of cigarette smoke, car exhaust, and popcorn-the bittersweet smell that you remember from _that _night- and decide to sneak in-for old time's sake. You walk over to the loose section of fence and lift it up before sliding headfirst under it. It's a tighter squeeze than it used to be, but that just proves you are bulking up, which can't be bad.

What they say is becoming truer and truer as the days pass- you look like the perfect combination of your brothers. You have Sodapop's good looks and Darry's strong frame (although he is still much stronger than you), and the ladies are giving you much more attention these days. Who knew that they all seem to fall for the sweet Greaser with a tragic life, the ultimate victim of circumstance?

You walk among the cars for a while, saying hello to some people that you know. You see Curly Shepard, but you don't stay to talk long. You run into Randy and Cherry in Cherry's mustang, but they just ignore you. Her words ring in your mind, clear as they were when first her soft, tinkling voice said them. "Things are rough all over, Pony." You wonder what really is so rough in her life right now. She sure seems to have it a lot better than you.

You finally make it to the front of the theater, sitting down on the bench in front of the screen. Some girls behind you start whispering, but you don't pay them any attention.

Once the movie starts, you tune out the outside world. Movies have always done that for you- provided an escape from reality, a chance to ignore your problems and relax for a while. Not everyone gets that, but you sure do. That's half the reason you love movies so much. You can throw yourself into the movie and live with the characters, completely ignoring the real world for a while. It's the same with books.

It is over way too soon, and you are forced back into reality. This disappoints you, because that was a really good movie. Much better than your life. The end is happier, too.

You get up to leave, knowing you'll be hoofing it home. Not like you can afford a car yet. This is bad, because once again, you have forgotten your switchblade. You buy a coke quick, draining it and taking it with you so that you aren't totally unarmed in case of a run in. Socs aren't such a big problem anymore-they have stopped jumping Greasers just because they're Greasers, but you are still the kid whose friend killed their friend. Most Socs still want your blood.

You leave the movie theater, steering clear of pretty much anyone. You head down the side streets to get back to your house, seeing no one.

You start to get uneasy when you come out of an alley onto a street about 10 blocks from your house. You don't think its Socs at first, because the car isn't a Mustang or a Corvair, which are the usual Soc cars of choice. But after it passes you for the third time and slows, you know.

You have two options at this point: fight or flight. You try to use your head and think it over. Darry would be happy. If you decide to run, you will be marked chicken and it will give them all the more reason to beat the living hell out of you later. But if you fight, well by the way they are driving, they're probably drunk, and drunken Socs mean one of two things: a bad beating, or someone dies. You don't have your switch, so the dead one would probably be you. Let's face it- you ain't gonna be able to kill anyone with a busted pop bottle. You could hold off some sober Socs, so long as they aren't particularly vicious, face it-you're no match for a 200 pounds of drunk Socy muscle.

In the end, your concern for your reputation wins, and you decide to fight, no matter how disappointed Darry might be in that choice. You aren't chicken, and a bunch of asshole Socs aren't gonna scare you. At least you won't let them know that you're scared. Because you are. More than you have been in a while, actually.

As the Socs start to stumble out of their car, you begin to assume the Greaser stance. You pop your collar, slouch, and smooth your hair back, sticking your right thumb into your back pocket of your jeans, giving the allusion that you have a blade. You know damn well you don't, and unless these guys are complete dumbasses, they probably do, too. Why the hell else would you be holding a pop bottle?

"Welllll, looky here, boys." Socs number one sneers at you, but the effect is ruined from how much he's slurring. You do a quick inventory- it's three on one, which is odd because they usually travel either by themselves or in packs of five or more. They look pretty wasted, which means they will likely get violent, but it shouldn't be too hard to overpower them. You seem to be stronger than them.

"Yeah, buddy. Looks like we got ourselves a… a… whadda we call em?" Soc 2 slurs.

"Greasher. That's what we call em- Greashers." The third one mumbles back. He is almost falling over.

You don't say anything, just let them talk. Maybe they've forgotten… Maybe you can sneak away and they won't even notice…

"Hey! Hey where's… where's he goin?" Number 2 has spotted your feeble attempt at a getaway.

Guess not.

They start to close around you, so you hold the bottle out in front of you.

"Get away from me." You speak in a slow, low, clear voice, the voice you use for intimidating people. They seem to actually give it some thought. They are all eyeing you and your bottle warily.

After some apparent internal struggling, their urge for a fight seems to win over their common sense.

The first one, a big blonde brute, advances towards you at the same time the second one, a red-headed pimple pus, comes at you from the side. The third one is pressing up against the car, seemingly trying to regain his balance.

You make a quick choice- they aren't going to beat you up. Not now, not when you just got out of school and you haven't even gotten to enjoy summer yet. You won't be so determined come September, but you are now.

With skill that you have gotten from years of rumbling and fighting, you deftly raise your hand and in one sweep you crack the first one over the head, breaking the bottle on his thick skull before pulling your hand across to the side and cutting pimple pus's face up. They both howl in pain and clutch at their heads, and their temporary distraction is enough for you to make a clean getaway.

You start running down the street, before you hear their pounding feet following. Apparently they are still pretty fast when drunk, but not enough to catch up with an A team track star.

Then you hear tires screeching and you deduce that Sir Leans-A-Lot has gotten the bright idea of chasing you down. You hope that he runs into a light pole. You run as close to the side of the road as you can, hoping that he can't hit you there.

You know that this can only end badly. Either he's going to hit you, or he's going to hit you. The only reasonable way that he won't hit you is if you get a miracle. And in your experience, Socs are the only ones who ever get the miracles.

You pray to God that this street is not going to be the last thing you see. You pray that the last thing you feel won't be your feet pounding on the sidewalk, or the way your heart is pounding so hard inside your ribcage that surely it will soon make a getaway. You don't want the last thing you think about to be how much you hate Socs, and you definitely don't want the last thing you smell to be that horrible combination of car exhaust and burning rubber- from the bottoms of your shoes.

As you think this, you realize that you are probably going to die. You just hope that you make it to the hospital so that you can say goodbye to Darry and Soda. You would rather die like Johnny, knowing that you got your last thoughts out, than like Dallas, in a flaming ball of fiery destruction. While you consider this, you realize how close you are to your house. Only two more blocks, and there it is! You think maybe-just maybe- there is a tiny bit of luck left for you. You slow down a little-your fatal mistake. Before you know what's going on, you hear a lot of noises in quick succession, which sound like this: crash SNAP "Owwww" "SHIT!" You then hear the squealing of tires as the Socs make their getaway. The last thing you think is _Darry is going to flip. _Then blackness soaks into your vision and the pain stops.

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